24. Marco
Chapter Twenty-Four
MARCO
My forty-eight hours are up.
Cillian is going to call in his favor, and I’m going to have no choice but to agree.
I can’t decide whether I would have been better off not knowing about his involvement with sex slavery because every time I think of all those women who are being forced to give up their freedom in order to make Cillian money, I can barely contain my anger.
I have no idea how I’m going to be able to look him in the eye and keep my cool. But I’ll have to find a way because I can’t take him out yet. Not when Andre and I are yet to finalize our plan with the Costa brothers.
I meet with Cillian outside a rundown warehouse in Hell’s Kitchen. He’s already waiting for me, lounging against the hood of his overpriced black Range Rover like he owns the place.
A cigarette dangles between his fingers, and his thin lips are pulled up into a smirk as he watches me approach.
I have no doubt he’s reveling in the fact that he has the upper hand on me right now.
He pushes off the car. “Marco. Right on time.”
“Let’s get this over with.” I don’t want to waste time with small talk.
Cillian chuckles, flicking ash to the ground. “As pleasant as ever.” He saunters toward me with a smug look on his face.
It’s enough to make my hands curl into fists as I try to keep a lid on my rage.
“I need ye to do somethin’ for me.” He takes a drag of his cigarette.
“There’s a van arriving tomorrow morning, Early.
It’ll be carrying a group of women smuggled in from Mexico.
I need ye to collect them and deliver them to an address.
” He exhales the smoke, before taking one last drag on his cigarette and tossing it on the ground.
I raise an eyebrow, pretending not to feel the bile rising in my throat as Cillian talks of trafficking these women as if they’re nothing more than cattle. “That’s it? You just want me to play the role of your delivery driver?”
Cillian grins, showing off a few gold teeth at the back of his mouth. “What, ye’re expecting something more glamorous?”
I was expecting the fucking opposite.
“I like knowing exactly what I’m signing up for.” I shrug before stuffing my hands into my pockets.
“It’s not what I want from them.” His eyes glint. “It’s what I can use them to get.”
Money.
Power.
My gut twists at the look of delight in Cillian’s eyes as he talks of his plans.
“And what the hell does that mean?”
“It means they’ll be working off their debt. The price of passage into the promised land, so to speak. They’ll sell themselves until I say their debts are paid off.”
“What are we talking, a month?”
Cillian laughs, and the sound has the hairs on the back of my neck standing up.
“Depends how good they are. Could take as little as a week but could also take years.”
I clench my jaw so hard my teeth ache.
These women think they’re being offered a new opportunity to build a new life, when in reality their freedom is being stripped from them.
“It’s always about money and power, Marco. Don’t act surprised. Ye’ve been in this world long enough.”
I force my expression to stay neutral. “Do you want me to have a problem with it?”
“Do you?” Cillian eyes me carefully.
“No, I have no problem with it at all.”
“Good. Then stop asking questions and just do what I tell ye .” He reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a folded piece of paper.
I take it and quickly scan the address scribbled on the inside, committing it to memory.
“Be there, And don’t feck it up.”
I pocket the note and turn without another word. If I stay here a second longer, I might put a bullet in his head and say to hell with the fallout.
As soon as I’m in the car and driving back to Westchester, I give Clara a call, needing more than anything to hear her voice.
She answers on the third ring.
“Hey.” Her voice is thick with sleep.
“Shit, did I wake you?”
“No, I was just dozing.”
“How are you feeling, love?”
“I’m okay.”
“How did everything go with the doctor?”
I don’t miss the way Clara hesitates before giving me an answer.
“Everything’s fine. Dr. Weston gave me something for the nausea, and I already feel much better.”
That doesn’t ease the knot in my chest, but I don’t push her to tell me more. At least, not right now.
“When will you be back?”
“Soon. I just need to make one stop on my way.”
“I miss you.”
I let out a breath. “I miss you too, love. So damn much.”
Thirty minutes later, I park up outside a small Italian restaurant called Olivetto’s, a small, family-owned place that always smells of fresh basil and garlic. The moment I walk through the door, I’m hit with such a strong wave of nostalgia that it takes my breath away.
I’ve been coming here since I was sixteen.
It was the last place I had a meal with my parents before they died, so it holds a lot of fond memories for me.
Even though Andre now lives in our old family home, this is the place where I feel closest to them, in part because the food is almost identical to the sorts of dishes my mother used to make.
“Marco!” Francine hugs me and kisses me on the cheek. “What a nice surprise.”
Francine and her husband, Alexandro, are the third generation to own this restaurant. They’re the epitome of old Italian grandparents, which only adds to my nostalgia.
It’s been a very long time since I had the pleasure of being in my own grandparents' company and I’ll admit, sometimes it’s nice to be fussed over like I’m a kid again.
“It’s always good to see you, Francine. I came by because I need some of your famous chicken soup.”
Francine presses a hand to my forehead. “Are you ill?”
I laugh. “It’s not for me.”
“Is little Rosa sick?” She purses her wrinkled lips as she gives me an unimpressed look, as if I’ve not done a good enough job of taking care of my sister.
“My, uh…girlfriend is.”
Referring to Clara as my girlfriend feels strange, only because it doesn’t feel strong enough of a word to reflect what she is to me. She is so much more than just my girlfriend, or even the mother of my child.
She is my everything , and I hope more than anything that one day she will let me call her my wife.
“Girlfriend? Alexandro, come! Marco has a girlfriend!”
Her husband, the main cook at Olivetto’s , suddenly pops out of the kitchen, and I swallow a groan at the look of surprise on his heavily wrinkled face.
They both start speaking to each other in rapid Italian, but I know enough to understand that they’re discussing their relief that I’m no longer destined for a lonely life of being a bachelor.
If only they knew the full truth…
I don’t bother telling them about Zoe because then I’ll never leave, and I want to get back to Clara as soon as possible. I’ve already been away from her for too long, and I want to be there to take care of her when she’s sick.
“We should throw in a portion of cannoli for Rosa. And some focaccia for Andre. I know it’s his favorite. Oh, and…”
Francine continues to rattle off items to add to order, and I chuckle to myself.
After so many years without my parents, it feels nice to have someone fuss over me.
When I finally get back to the Westchester estate with armfuls of takeout containers in hand, I quickly drop everything on the counter in the kitchen before heading upstairs to see if Clara is up for some food.
When I slowly open the door to our room, I find her out cold in our bed.
Her breathing is soft and even, and her brow is a little furrowed from whatever dreams are running through her mind. Her face is still pale, but she’s drunk her tea and eaten half of her toast, which I hope is a good sign.
I press a quick kiss to her temple before shutting the door quietly behind me and heading next door to check on Zoe who looks to be starting to stir in her crib.
Her little fists wriggle in the air as she lets out little sleepy whimpers.
The second she spots me leaning over the crib, her eyes light up, and she lets out a frustrated cry that I know means pick me up, now .
“Come here, princess.” I scoop her up into my arms, keeping my voice low as not to wake up Clara through the monitor. “Did you miss me, sleepy girl?”
She gurgles as her little hands reach for my face, and I press a kiss to her palm.
“Mama’s sick, so it’s just you and me tonight. How does that sound?”
Zoe chats away as she pulls at my hair, and I laugh. She really is the cutest little thing.
I change her diaper and grab a bottle of expressed milk from the mini fridge in her room before settling into the rocker to feed her.
Zoe’s eyes flutter open and closed as she feeds, fighting the need for sleep but also wanting to stare up at me.
As I rock her gently, humming some stupid lullaby I vaguely remember from my childhood, a wave of emotion crashes through me so hard that it takes my breath away.
I would do anything for this little girl, and her mom, and it actually terrifies me how much I love them.
Because loving them means I have something to lose.
Cillian’s face flashes through my mind, and anger starts to simmer once more in my veins.
The way he spoke about those women with a fucking smile on his face makes me sick, and I can’t help but imagine Zoe getting caught in the crosshairs of a world like his.
The thought of someone like Cillian ever getting close enough to touch my daughter…
I can barely even stand to think about it.
But one thing I know for sure is that I would rather die before I let anything like that happen to her.
I stroke Zoe’s hair. “I’ve got you, baby. Daddy will do anything to keep you safe.”
I wish I could keep my girls locked away in this house forever, but I know that’s not possible. At some point, Clara is going to start her studies at the Fashion Institute, and Zoe will be in kindergarten.
I want them to live full lives and chase their dreams. But in order for them to be able to do that, I need to take care of the threat that is Cillian Moore.
As Zoe finishes her bottle, I pull my phone out of my pocket with my free hand and start making a list of any contacts I could call upon to help and any weaknesses that come to mind.
If I’m going to take Cillian down, I need to be ruthless but also smart. He’s likely already considered the possibility that I will betray him, which means I need to be prepared for one hell of a fight.
Because this isn’t just about power or revenge anymore.
This is about protecting what’s mine.